


The Glass Candles Are Burning

by Helholden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Braavos, Cunnilingus, Drunkenness, F/M, Future Fic, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helholden/pseuds/Helholden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of surviving on her own in Braavos, Arya stumbles into an old friend—quite literally, in the middle of a crowded street. A girl should look where she is going, but a man and a girl—or is it a woman now—find each other again because of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Glass Candles Are Burning

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr prompt given to me by LadyTP. Was supposed to be 200 words. Ended up being over 2,000. Arya is aged up in this, and it is a future!fic, but I haven't stated anything time-wise or age-wise directly, so it's up to the reader exactly how old she is.

* * *

 

The air was salty and windy, casting itself about her in a furious gale. Arya held onto the mast of the boat as it steered into shore after a long day of fishing. Her hands were sore, blistered, and red, and her hair would be a knotted mess by the time the wind was done ravaging it, but she felt a sense of satisfaction in having done some hard work for the day. She had used her hands and her wits, her legs and her arms, and she was stronger than what she used to be. She was no longer that skinny little girl with knobby knees.

 

Arya stepped off of the boat as they pulled into dock, men lashing ropes around poles to secure the boat in place. She collected her payment in coin for her half of the work, and then she left the ship because the cleaning up and the selling was no longer a part of her job. She did that as a child, but not anymore.

 

Meandering through the streets, Arya nicked more coins out of people’s pockets and slipped them into her own. She smiled as the wind kissed her face, tanned by days in the sun. Arya closed her eyes as she raised her face to the sky. Her usually straight hair was a mess of short, tangled waves from the wind, and as she walked without looking, she ran into a body in the crowd.

 

Most people stepped out of her way when they saw her coming. She had never run into anybody before with her eyes closed. She could always sense them, in a way, too, but this person had come out of nowhere. Arya grasped the shoulders, broad and firm with strength, and when she lowered her face and opened her eyes, her mouth fell open in bewilderment at the face before her.

 

 _It can’t be_ , she thought. She had seen him lose his face, change it before her eyes, and yet here was that face she had known back in Harrenhal.

 

His handsome face with his crooked smile. Jaqen tilted his head to the side as he looked back at her, one side of his hair red and one side white.

 

“A girl should look where she is going,” he said, a barely imperceptible teasing quality to his voice as he raised a single eyebrow at her.

 

Arya let go of his shoulders, pulling away from him. Her eyes remained wide, however, in shock or in awe. She wasn’t quite sure.

 

“How did you find me?” Arya demanded.

 

“This girl found a man,” Jaqen said. “A man did not find the girl.”

 

“I’m not a girl,” Arya threw back.

 

Jaqen’s eyes passed downward over her body, lingering. “A woman, then.”

 

Arya felt a light blade of shock hit her flat against her stomach at his gaze, but she lifted her chin as an eerie wash of calm rolled over her.

 

“Have a drink with me,” Arya suggested, wishing to talk, to catch up, to find out everything he had been up to all these years. Jaqen must have been in no hurry, for he smiled that crooked smile of his again, and his agreement to her request led them to one of the many taverns sitting on the port in Braavos. It smelled of stale bread and the stench of vomited wine, but Arya was used to the smell and Jaqen did not care either.

 

They had both been in much worse.

 

Their talk lasted for hours into the night, and Arya’s amazement was apparent on her open face as she listened to every word out of his mouth. Her eyes were wide, soaking it all in, as she gazed upon Jaqen’s face. It had not changed a single bit. He still looked the same he had as when he had left her outside of Harrenhal all of those years ago. The corner of his bright eyes crinkled in amusement as he told a new story, and Arya found herself grinning until she laughed so hard her sides were hurting.

 

Drunk off too much wine, Jaqen said he must buy a room for the night. He paid the innkeeper, and Arya followed him to his room. Jaqen fumbled and dropped the key as he tried to unlock the door, laughing at his misfortune. It wasn’t an accident, but Arya couldn’t tell—she swooped down to scoop up the fallen key, deftly unlocking the door and pushing it open with the heel of her hand.

 

“A woman first,” Jaqen said, eyes glinting, and Arya grinned back at him, biting on her lower lip.

 

She stumbled into the room first, the world swaying slightly as she looked up at the dark ceiling. A lantern was lit in the corner on a small table, and before long, Jaqen had lit some tallow candles in the room, giving the room a muted glow. Arya spun around with her arms outstretched before she stilled and closed her eyes.

 

“I wanted to see the world,” she said, almost sadly, “but once you find a home, it’s hard to leave it.”

 

“Is this a girl’s home now?” Jaqen asked her, setting himself down on the edge of the bed. He pulled off his boots, one at a time, dropping them with heavy clunks onto the floor.

 

“No,” Arya said quickly, but then, “and yes. I don’t know. And I’m not a girl, I told you.”

 

“A woman,” Jaqen murmured from the bed, his voice sending a tingle down her spine.

 

“Yes,” Arya agreed slowly, “a woman.”

 

Jaqen had shed his coat from his shoulders, and then he stood up from the bed to approach the washbasin in the room. Piece by piece, he slowly disrobed himself, and Arya watched from the center of the room, staring at him. In her inebriated state she hardly thought to consider the implications, not that she much cared for them anyway.

 

Soon, Jaqen was as naked as his name day in the candlelight, bathing slowly with a washrag over his body, leaving glistening trails of water across his skin. Arya watched with rapt interest, slowly seating herself on the floor. They had fallen silent. He knew she was still there. He knew she was watching him.

 

Jaqen bathed in front of her on purpose, and eventually, Arya crept closer to him. She was fascinated with his body, with the curve of the muscles, and the race of her heart at the sight of his nudeness. His legs were covered in hair, his backside slick and clean, and her hand reached out to touch the side of his thigh with just the tips of her fingers. Jaqen paused amidst his washing, but he did not seem startled or unhappy at her touch or her approach.

 

“A woman is . . . familiar,” Jaqen said in a low voice, though it was not without its own interest.

 

Arya glanced up from where she knelt on the floor beside him. His eyes were looking down at her, glittering in amusement. There was an unfamiliar knot in her belly. “I’ve seen you naked before,” she said bluntly. “You were bathing.”

 

“A man was in a tub,” he said. “A man did not stand up.”

 

Arya slid her fingers slowly down his leg, unintentionally, as she looked up at him. “You were naked.”

 

“A girl did not see.”

 

“A woman sees,” Arya whispered back, curling her fingers until it was her nails dragging against his skin, and Jaqen’s chest seemed to shudder from her touch. Slowly, he turned around, until he was facing her. Arya had never seen a man up close in this manner, but he was more than just that. She had seen men and boys pissing out in the woods, but never _this_. He was erect and larger than what she remembered seeing on boys in the past, and even through the haze in her mind, she could see the trace of veins.

 

The smell of him was on the air, and she was intoxicated by it. Arya reached out, touching him softly at first, allowing her hand to gently wrap around his shaft and stroke him slightly. He grew harder at her touch, and Arya looked up at his face. He was looking down at her, but his eyes had drifted to a close. When they opened again, they were dark and indistinct.

 

“A woman touches,” Jaqen murmured, reaching out to comb his fingers across her hair. It was still a mess, she guaranteed herself, but Jaqen didn’t seem to care. “A woman should taste.”

 

Arya had never _tasted_ a man before, but the wine gave her courage. She drew closer to him, opening her mouth and breathing outward, warm breath washing over his shaft. He groaned, running his hand over her forehead to move her hair out of the way, his thumb grazing her temple affectionately. She reached out with her tongue at first, grazing his hot skin along the tip, and he groaned deeper this time. Arya grew bold at his sounds, and propping herself up on her knees, she took him into her mouth and closed her lips around his member. Her hand gripped him at his base to hold him as she moved her lips and tongue back and forth over him, eliciting the most interesting of sounds from Jaqen’s throat.

 

When he lost himself and came, Arya expected something bitter and nasty. That was what the whores always spoke of, but Jaqen tasted sweet somehow and the taste was not unpleasant. Arya swallowed his release, gulping around the pulse of his climax, as he gently held the back of her head.

 

She pulled back, breathing heavily, her hand still gripping his base.

 

“A woman knows much,” he told her, though not crudely. There was a slight appreciation in his tone.

 

“I’ve never done that before,” Arya blurted out.

 

A light of shock entered Jaqen’s eyes as he looked down at her. “A woman is a fast learner,” he then said, and he took her by her free hand to lightly tug on it, urging her upright. “Come,” he added in a low voice, “let a man repay a favor.”

 

Arya rose to her feet, and Jaqen pulled her to the bed. He leaned in to kiss her, his lips soft against hers, and then he was helping her remove her clothes. When he had her naked and on her back upon the sheets, he descended between her legs like a seasoned lover and used his mouth and tongue on her in ways Arya had never imagined would bring such pleasure to her body. Her legs opened further, her chest heaving towards the ceiling, as she felt his tongue slide in deep before gliding over her lovingly and tending with slow and then quick little licks on her nub—a nub she had discovered some time ago and learned how to work herself, but Jaqen worked it better with his tongue and his sweet kisses than her fingers had ever managed to do.

 

Arya had never experienced a climax before that she was aware of, having only known her own hand and being awkward with it, but Jaqen slid a finger inside of her as he kissed her between her legs, and he began to thrust it in and out as a heavy knot built inside of her stomach. It moved lower still, drawing all of her muscles tight until they erupted into a thousand pinpricks of pleasure, pulsing throughout her body in waves that arched her back and rolled her muscles. She called out to the ceiling, invoking a god whose name she didn’t know, but all that looked down on her was darkness and shadow.

 

Jaqen joined her by her side on the bed, a firm arm over her middle to hold her, and Arya curled into him. He was comforting now, even as he had been then. Of course, this had been more than just comfort, but Arya didn’t particularly care. As she felt herself drifting off of her cloud, Jaqen spoke again.

 

“A man must leave in the morning,” he said, a solemn tone to his voice.

 

Arya opened her eyes, pulling her head back to look him in the eyes. “A woman can come with you,” she said back in a low tone, hoping more for a journey than a romantic endeavor. Arya was not the romantic type, never had been, and Jaqen should have known that, even if she was older now. She was different than what she had been in those days when he had known her, but not in that way.

 

In the darkness between the shadows and tallow candles, Jaqen’s crooked smile was visible to her. “A man might need the help of no one,” he said, “in what he is about to do.” He gazed over Arya’s face in the dark, traced a thumb down the bridge of her nose. “Are you no one, Arya of House Stark, or a woman?”

 

Smiling back at him, Arya answered, “No one.”

 

 


End file.
